


(Dis)Assembly Required

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 23:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Guns.





	(Dis)Assembly Required

The blaster is new. Technology is always moving, and the First Order has the money for it.

That was strange, when he first… it was strange. From watching wires crossed and connections jumped to squeeze out the slightest further bump in power, to the world of R&D, of schematics, of real customisation…

Progress. Moving forwards. Not using bits and pieces of the past to stumble onwards, but creating anew.

Her hands move with practised ease over the catches, opening the sections that allow her to realign the components inside, to check the wear and tear. It’s new, but it’s important not to just let things become old. Constant updating. Constant upgrading. Her fingers are bare for this, a single concession she allows her troops. For the longest time, it was the only patch of skin he ever saw; the only indication of her hue, her age. Not that either mattered. Before, she’d just been the helmet to him. He hadn’t needed to fill in the gaps, had taken her at ‘face’ value. 

Why not? The face she presented to the world - chromium, efficient, firm - was _her_. It was her.

The way her fingers go paler when they press into plasteel, before the blood rushes back in… that is different. Close to death, she is oddly closer to life. 

Kylo asks no question, feeling the steps like a mantra, like a chant, like a prayer and a kata all in one. They echo through her, both as thought and deed. He’s not sure if she’s thinking them, or if her muscles are what speak so loud. The memory of it guiding him through the pattern. 

The steps echo into him, and he catches the edges of words, now: what she will tell her troops when she is confident enough in the method to instruct. He sees a slight catch in her rhythm, and he realises here is a gap: a missing piece that must be found. The pause before the hyperspeed jump, with energy mounting and seeking release. Possibilities branch out like spilt liquid hitting fabric, like blood seeping through cloth. Finding the path of least - ah - resistance, seeking the end. Is it faster to slide the catch first, or to thumb the connection? 

Her mind whirrs so fast, and when she decides, it is a strange relief. This. This is the way. This is the new. 

This.

Her agile fingers close the shell back together, and the weapon is made whole again.

It must happen, over and over. It will happen.

Her hands withdraw.

The training is complete. 


End file.
